


You Didn't See That Coming?

by di0zapeeRc



Series: The Epistemology of Love [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Relationship, Dysphoria, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Theft, Trans Male Character, Violence, panromantic character, severed limbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:59:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/di0zapeeRc/pseuds/di0zapeeRc
Summary: JUSTICE FOR BRIETROBehind-the-scenes of Tony and Loki's abduction and rescue, but really the Brietro Origin Story.Just a ship I saw working in my FrostIron fic. Love it, hate it - this is not something I shipped at all in the movies, but it does work in my fic.Additionally: I am aromantic, pansexual and non-binary. However, my two characters are asexual. I did not think it fair to deny them their sexuality - or technically lack thereof - just because I myself am not ace. I did my research and had help and so I am not sucking anything out of my thumb. However, I can get some stuff wrong. My intense scenes were meant to be loaded, not sexual. If there is anything in here that you feel was misrepresented, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. Though, if you're just going to leave insults in my comments, I hope your wifi lags  forever and this fic is the only thing you're ever able to open on the internet again. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, people. CONSTRUCTIVE.





	You Didn't See That Coming?

While Tony had been finishing the casing, Bruce had been calibrating the electromagnet to sync with the app he created for it. The purpose of the app is get live readouts of its effects on Tony’s body. In their current position, Bruce could not afford to carry around a laptop or hook Tony up to an X-ray or MRI machine at their leisure.

Distantly, he’d been aware of everyone slowly filtering out of the room. He knew he should probably have gotten some sleep, too, but he’d been reluctant to leave Tony so soon after everything. If he’d had his way, he’d have had Maximoff help him to hook Tony up to a few IVs and kept a watch over him to let his body adjust systematically to the new electromagnet. But, as mentioned, they hadn’t the time. So, he’d guessed he’d crash for an hour or two.

“Bruce, I am sleeping in here to give Wanda and Natasha some privacy. You should sleep, too. Want to share my mattress?” Pietro had offered.

To hide his immediate aversion to intimacy, he’d kept his eyes on his phone and face in an intent expression when he’d answered that he’d appreciate that. _It’s just sleeping_ , he’d fought with his brain. _It doesn’t mean anything. Calm down, for fuck’s sake_.

Loki and Tony had turned in, wrapped in each other. To Bruce, they’d looked like a Renaissance painting: Tony, the mortal yearning for atonement; Loki, the angel fallen from grace because of their love for a damaged mortal. Bruce had grinned to himself, recalling the awful misquoting of poetry Tony had resorted to to describe his love for Loki. He’d pretended to be entirely clueless about poetry for Tony’s sake. Instead of correcting Tony, he’d focused on hiding his disgust at such open displays of love and affection. Nothing made his skin crawl more than people who so shamelessly threw themselves at other people.

“You coming?” Pietro had whispered up to him from the bed he’d made on the floor at Loki’s side of the bed.

He’d known he should have probably cleaned up their work station first, but exhaustion was pulling him down, then. He’d get to it later. He still had a plan for what to do with the excess palladium they had.

The mattress was spacious, if not a double. Pietro had had his back to Loki and had been facing the outer wall. Bruce had lain so that they were back to back. He couldn’t even get comfortable before he’d lost consciousness.

He’d woken up all at once. When his eyes had flown open, it’d been a pair of icy grey-green ones that had stared back. The two of them had jumped apart: Bruce had risen to his feet immediately, while Pietro had rolled off the soaking mattress.

“Why water?” Pietro had asked, toweling off his silvery hair.

Natasha handed Bruce a towel, too.

“We’ve been out for hours. It’s dark out. Also, Tony and Loki are gone,” she’d supplied, pointing at the bed.

Bruce had grabbed for his phone immediately. As he toweled it off, too, he thanked his lucky stars that he’d stuck with Android all these years. At least his phone is waterproof. He’d opened the app, gripping the phone tighter in frustration when it hadn’t loaded fast enough. He realized why a moment later.

‘CONNECTION LOST’

“What…” he’d muttered, tapping at it. He’d rechecked his calibrations and sent out a ping.

‘CONNECTION LOST’

Scouring the internet for signs of a geo-interference had yielded nothing. Pinging the satellite came back positive.

That’d left…

 _Fuck_.

“I, um… I have bad news,” he’d started. He’d slipped his phone back into his sopping pocket, taken it out again and tossed it on the bed.

“The suspense is killing me,” Pietro had pushed.

He’d taken a deep breath, shut his eyes and said: “The electromagnet isn’t connecting to the app I have for it. This can mean one of two things: either the magnet is no longer in range of Tony or Tony’s…”

He hadn’t been able to finish. He hadn’t needed to.

“Green, if I gave you a sample of my blood to test, would you be able to do a tox-screen?” Natasha had asked suddenly.

Getting his jumbled thoughts and feelings in order, he’d affirmed, but asked why.

“I think we’ve been drugged,” she’d simply said.

“I… Okay,” Bruce answered.

“I don’t feel drugged?” Maximoff pressed.

“Does your mouth not taste a little funny? Like sour orange juice?” Nat asked.

“…Yes,” Maximoff conceded.

“Drugged.”

Wanda had turned to Pietro and mouthed what Bruce suspected was the Ukrainian version of ‘WTF’.

Then they had gotten busy, clearing out the work station of all the unnecessary clutter and setting up Bruce’s microscope and all the wiring. Without any kind of prompting, Natasha had put a tourniquet around her arm, gotten a vein and jammed a needle in there. She drew an entire syringe full of blood and handed it off to Maximoff, before going on to clean the wound. All of this without so much as a frown of concentration.

While Bruce had run his tests, Pietro wandered over, looking curious.

“Do we believe we were drugged?” he’d asked, hopping up onto the work table lightly.

“Yes. Unless we all just collectively forgot drinking some rank ass OJ,” Bruce had said, eye to the microscope.

“I am allergic. But clearly this stuff does not contain any actual citrus,” Pietro had commented while watching Bruce make notes.

“That’s actually so interesting. Are you and Maximoff both allergic?” Bruce had asked. He hadn’t looked up from his iPad. Years of living with Tony has made him shockingly good at multitasking.

Pietro chuckled.

“I, too, am Maximoff. But she calls you Banner. Is this a rivalry thing? I thought perhaps you two had… How do you Americans say? Buried the gadget?”

“Hatchet,” Bruce had corrected with a smirk. “I suppose it is. She and I are on better terms now. She’s quite smart, your sister. Also, stunningly insightful. Did you come as a surprise to her?” Bruce asked, looking up to meet Pietro’s eyes for the first time.

“Me?” Pietro said, looking insulted, but subdued.

“I meant your asexuality,” Bruce clarified.

Pietro’s eyebrows had shot up at this.

“No. I do not think I did,” he says. “She just knew. She always just knew. She never called me her sister. Never treated me like a girl. Wanda is the best person I know.”

“Seeing her with Natasha and Loki, I’m sure that is largely agreed upon. Pietro,” Bruce had said, as it hit him, “I never asked you what you studied?”

“People rarely do. I’m pretty sure everyone thinks I am Wanda’s shadow,” he’d surmised. “I study dance.”

This had Bruce looking up again.

“Dance? I mean, I never would’ve guessed, but it makes total sense in hindsight.”

“That’s what everyone says. In fact, I think you just quoted Clint exactly when I told him.”

Turning back to his makeshift pathology rig, he’d inquired as to what type of dance Pietro did. Pietro told him that his course involved studying dance as a discipline and not just in practice. So, he does quite a few styles, depending on the theoretical content at the time. They’d been doing contemporary at the end of last semester. To him, it was like poetry in motion.

Bruce had thought the way Pietro discussed his passion was beautiful. He had a weakness for people who lose themselves in what makes them happiest. Never were they more candid – never more vulnerable. If he had to be real with himself, he would concede to this being his form of intimacy. Emotional vulnerability is what makes him entirely connected to someone, and it wasn’t something he managed with just anyone. It took a lot for him to open up to someone.

For example, it took him three years to open up to Tony and the Starks about his father beating him and his mother. Three years, in which he had to stack lie on top of lie about all the bruises, cuts and broken bones – lies his father helped concoct and his mother corroborated. His mother had been dead a year, at his father’s hands, before Bruce had finally felt secure enough in his friendship with Tony to tell him the truth. He’d been beyond relieved to find that Tony had returned his deep feelings of friendship, and was willing to fight for him in ways no one ever had before. A week after the revelation, Bruce had been moved in with the Starks and legal proceedings were underway to separate him from his father for good – provided the Starks offered him a stable home. Three strikes, and he was out and back with his father. He already had two under his belt.

Pietro, however, had no such reservations. He is perfectly forthcoming about just about everything, but not in an attention-seeking sort of way. No, rather in such a way that put you entirely at ease with him within an hour of knowing him. You knew he had a lot more under the surface than he was letting on, but he was candid and easy-going and fun – unless you crossed his sister, in which case you had better start running. Pietro is fast and easily infuriated when it comes to Maximoff.

“Anything?” Nat had come by to ask.

“I would say so, though it’s a pretty advanced drug,” he’d explained.

Pietro leaned in, interest peaked. Maximoff wandered over, too.

“As far as I can tell, the drug knocks you out by rapidly deoxygenating your blood, causing you to lose consciousness. Kind of like gassing yourself in a car with exhaust fumes, except there’s no carbon dioxide replacing the oxygen. In other words, the purpose was to drug us – not kill us. They would’ve had to hit us with at least five times the dose we got for that to happen.”

“Mr. Banner, do you believe Mr. Stark and Mx. Loki were taken?” asked Jarvis. He’d been seated quietly in a corner, comforting Mr. and Mrs. Stark in dulcet tones. Pepper, as everyone seemed to have taken to calling her, had been helping Jarvis, while Clint had stayed glued to her side.

“There’s a strong possibility, though I can’t imagine why. If this is the KGB, surely they’d have taken Nat? What use could Tony possibly be to them? Or Loki, for that matter?” Bruce had mused aloud.

“Well, you said he was most likely dead,” Maximoff had put up, “so maybe they are meant to serve as a threat.”

Bruce had really wished she hadn’t said that. He’d been holding it together surprisingly well until now. Now, he just feels like running outside and screaming and screaming and screaming until he had no more voice left.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” he’d asked, instead.

“Almost dawn,” Steve supplied, looking out the window.

“Fuck,” Bruce said.

“Not necessarily,” said Natasha, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “If Wanda was right and Tony and Loki had been taken for scare tactics, they’d have been given back to us by now – DOA. Maybe we should take a look around and see what we see.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Bruce said to no one in particular.

“I was trained for this, Green. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Nat had said. She’d spent a minute putting together two ‘patrol teams’. She had left with Bucky, after stationing Clint here with the non-fighters as cover. Pietro, being paired with Steve, had called after them.

“Am I supposed to run them to death? Natasha, _ya ne mozhu byty_!”

“You’ll be fine!” she’d called back, faintly owing to distance.

“C’mon, Speedy,” Steve said, pulling him out the door.

That had left Bruce, Maximoff, the Starks and Jarvis. Mr. Stark looked better than he’d had since the botched home invasion. He’d no longer appeared as if he were seeing ghosts. Mrs. Stark had so far been the most practical one: taking everyone out for food and clothes and such. In fact, she’d suggested just that, which lead to her taking her husband and leaving with Jarvis.

Bruce had managed something about stealing a car and ditching his van somewhere off the grid. He didn’t know if Jarvis actually heard him or not. He was too focused on what he’d been trying to distract himself from all this time.

Absently, he’d gone to get his phone from where it had still lain on the bed. He tried to reconnect to the app. The same message as before. Again, he’d pinged the electromagnet and the satellite. The satellite had come back positive, but not the magnet. He tried again, several times.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

_Nothing._

_NOTHING._

“ _FUCK!_ ”

“Banner, my heart!” Maximoff had yelled at him, clutching at her chest. She walked over. “We are all worried! Loki is like family to me. But getting angry now will not solve anyth–”

“ _DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT GETTING ANGRY!_ ” he’d screamed at her, his voice coming out louder than he could ever make it otherwise. He’d felt that odd sensation – the one that always came with him having an episode while on his meds, anyway: like he was being lifted out of his body to hang, paralyzed, above it, and watching himself from behind a glass wall. He could do nothing to relax himself or stop what he was doing, no matter how loudly he yelled at himself. All he could do was hang back and watch it burn itself out. Off his meds, he’d be locked out of his consciousness entirely and only come to again after the episode.

Maximoff had flung herself out of his way, her eyes wider than he’d ever seen them.

“ _HE SAVED MY LIFE. HE’S GIVEN ME EVERYTHING. HE’S KEPT ME FROM LITERAL DEATH. NOW, HE’S MOST PROBABLY DEAD, BUT YOU WANT TO COMPARE THAT TO THE RELATIONSHIP YOU’VE HAD WITH SOMEONE FOR A YEAR?_ ” He’d advanced on her, clenching and unclenching his fists to have kept from strangling her where she’d stood. “ _WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, MAXIMOFF? WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU GET OFF?_ ”

“Bruce,” she said, sweetly, coming closer with her hands up in surrender. She never called him Bruce. “Bruce, please? I was just trying to he–”

“ _YOU WERE BEING A FUCKING WISE-ASS, AS USUAL. YOU NEED TO LEARN WHEN TO SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, YOU INCESSANT BITCH!_ ” That had been when he’d grabbed her and tossed her across the room. She sailed through the air, a rag doll, over the bed and through the window. He’d felt sick satisfaction at the sound of her head hitting the glass.

 _Banner, you have to stop. You_ have _to stop now, Banner. Go help her. You hurt her. Go to her and help her. Go, Bruce!_ GO!

It was no use. He couldn’t get himself out of this. He was so angry. The rage was like thick tar in his stomach, boiling and broiling, making him sick and pushing its way out through Maximoff’s pain and fear.

Outside, she’d been on the ground, bleeding in a pool of shattered glass. Her hair was splayed around her, only just visible as dark brown from the faint light gathering from the fast approaching dawn. When she’d seen him, she’d forced herself up into a sitting position at least, trying to push herself away from him. She was terrified, helpless – and Bruce had been living for it.

“ _PIETRO!_ ” she’d screamed, tears streaking down her bloody face. “ _NATASHA!_ ”

Behind her, she felt the decorative river stones and lifted one above her head. She chucked it at Bruce, who dodged. This, if possible, had pissed him off even more.

_This whiny cunt was going to die._

Suddenly, he’d been gripped from behind and lifted clean off his feet.

 _YES_! he’d cheered internally.

“ _GET_ THE FUCK _OFF ME!_ ” he’d screamed, struggling.

In front of him, Pietro ran to his sister’s side. Something whispered passed between them and then Pietro had turned on Bruce.

_This is it, old Brucey, old pal. Today is the day you officially get your ass kicked by someone other than your old man. A true milestone. You fucking lunatic._

But Pietro hadn’t hit him. Pietro hadn’t used force at all. Behind him, Nat had finally reached Maximoff and was helping her up and off the scene. Pietro had put both his hands on either side of Bruce’s face and forced Bruce to look him straight in the eye.

“Bruce, he’s not here. Tony is nowhere near here. He’s not dead yet. You do not have to be scared yet,” Pietro had murmured, their faces an inch apart. “Focus on my voice, Bruce. Feel my hands on your skin. Close your eyes. Focus, feel – and breathe.”

For a while, all that could be heard was the sound of their breathing. Slowly, the grip on Bruce relaxed until it’d been just he and Pietro standing there, in the predawn light. Bruce opened his eyes again, locking gazes with Pietro. The bluish filter of the early morning over everything was beautiful over the other man. He was all soft blues and greys, like a photograph of nothing special that made you feel every emotion at once.

“This is just a big dose of fear, Bruce. Just fear. It makes you angry with yourself, because you cannot control it. It’s alright to be angry – but it’s also alright to be scared. Let yourself be scared. Let it all in – and then let it all go,” Pietro said, in a voice like a single violin rising high above a cacophony of noise to bring order out of chaos. He felt like a lighthouse Bruce could swim to, right before the typhoon could finally take him. “We’ll get them back. I promise you, we will get them back.”

“We will get them back,” Bruce had repeated, a balm for his frayed, overstretched nerves.

“I promise,” Pietro repeated, eyes burning into Bruce’s.

He’d put his hands on Bruce’s arms. It’d been what finally undid Bruce. He’d slumped forward, comforted, consoled and at ease. He wouldn’t have admitted it back then, but even hopeful. The lighthouse had promised the storm would end. The lighthouse saw clearly what he hadn’t been able to. Believe it.

Pietro had wrapped Bruce in a tight hug. Bruce, too tired to return the gesture, had merely let himself be hugged. He’d felt himself crying, but it hadn’t mattered. This was Pietro, and Bruce had known he’d face no judgement from Pietro.

“I’m sorry,” he’d found himself muttering over and over. He felt sick to his stomach with what he’d done to Wanda. “I’m sorry. _I’m so sorry_ …”

“Hush up. She is rattled, but alright. She, of all people, understands. I have had to talk her out of it many times, too.” Pietro hadn’t explained exactly what ‘it’ was, but Bruce could venture a pretty accurate guess.

“I guess I just…” Bruce had started, pulling away, but not really known how to finish.

“You didn’t see that coming?” Pietro had offered.

That had reigned true for so much of life right then that all Bruce could’ve done was give a boneless nod.

“Thank you, Pietro,” Bruce’d whispered.

Being taller than Bruce, Pietro had tilted his head down only slightly to press a light kiss to Bruce’s forehead. It’d shocked Bruce completely sober. He’d again had to remind himself that it meant nothing other than comfort and kindness. Pietro is a kind, sweet guy. He’d even probably just been lost in the motions he’d gone through so many times with Maximoff. It meant _literally_ nothing.  

_Calm the hell down, you psychopath._

 

“What is that?” Natasha had asked, when a weird buzzer noise had started up out of nowhere.

“Is it coming from you?” Pietro had asked Bruce.

They’d all been eating, still in Tony and Loki’s room. Wanda was in bed in her room, under the effects of a strong sedative. She’d let Bruce come clean her up, while Pietro supervised. Bruce hadn’t been able to stop apologizing, but Wanda – he’d taken to calling her Wanda now, instead of Maximoff – had taken his hands in hers and said that he had absolutely nothing to be sorry for. It hadn’t been him. She knew he wasn’t the violent type. He’d felt a rush of gratitude towards her and had wrapped her in a hug. She’d hugged him back, smiling through the pain. She’d then told Pietro, in English for Bruce’s benefit, to stay by Bruce’s side, no matter what. Pietro had grinned and said Bruce could not run anywhere close to fast enough to get away from him.

“It is, but it makes no sense,” Bruce said and fished his phone out of the pocket of his new shorts.

On the screen, he’d seen an alert from the app that linked to Tony’s electromagnet. The magnet had been disconnected for almost 18 hours now. Had it been on the fritz? He’d clicked the notification and let it take him back to the app.

“… _Oh, shit_! Everyone! Oh, SHIT! The magnet reconnected with Tony! HE’S STILL ALIVE!” Bruce had cried, jumping up and sending his Burger King flying.

Pietro had grabbed his phone from him and stared hard at the screen. Frowning, he’d handed it back and said: “This does not tell us where he is.”

“Should we not just hand the app over to the US military to use for tracking?” Pepper had asked. She’d been eating her Burger King like it’d been a gourmet sandwich and kept it wrapped partially so as to not get anything on the napkin she’d already thrown over her lap to prevent staining her clothes.

“They’ll be expecting the military. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to go in alone this time. I can take them. They’ll bargain with me. We can’t ambush them with Tony and Loki’s lives on the line,” Natasha had said, matter-of-factly.

“How will you get to them, Nat? You don’t know how to find them, and this is Bruce’s app,” Clint had reasoned. “Like it or not, you’ll need some of us, at least.”

“You know what, Barton?” she’d said with a smirk.

“We can do this ourselves. We just have to scare them enough to get their attention. Then, we can bargain. It’ll be a delicate operation, but if we plan it just right, we can walk away with everyone of us coming home alive,” Steve had said, around Bucky in his lap. The latter had turned and pressed a kiss lightly to the top of Steve’s head.

Bruce had been reminded of when Pietro had kissed him earlier.

_Get it together, Banner._

“We’re going to have to head back to Malibu,” Bruce said.

“I was afraid someone would say that,” Pietro had said, making a face.

They’d ended up needing to steal a second car. This had been relatively easy. Pietro was not only super fast on his feet, but also with a car. He’d gunned the car after Bruce had disabled the alarm, which had taken far longer than it needed to. Why had Tony been the one taken? They needed him to save him.

Go figure.

Too soon, the ruins of the house had come into view. In front of them, the sun had been setting over the ocean, bathing everything in golden light that made their situation seem that much more hopeful. 

Bruce, next to Pietro in the passenger seat of the SUV they’d jacked, had kept a watchful eye out for any possible trouble they might have run into. Aside from the FBI crime scene tape they’d driven through at the front gate, there had been nothing. This had seemed suspicious to Bruce, who’d pointed it out to everyone in the car with them. Nat had then suggested they pull over a ways from the house and make their way inside on foot. She’d texted Clint this, too, who’d been in the other car with Jarvis, the Starks and Pepper.

They’d driven the cars off the road and into the surrounding ‘forest’ the Starks had kept as a part of their grounds. Nat had coordinated them in such a way as to spread them out far enough to stay inconspicuous, but close enough together to have one another’s backs.

The advance on the house had been difficult, because there’d been rubble and fallen trees and blown up rocks and dirt everywhere. Bruce had swallowed bile back down when he’d come across a blown off shoe – with a foot and half a leg still in it. This had made him push on faster. The blast radius had meant that the trees now ‘ended’ long before they were actually at the house, so they’d hung back just inside the trees for a beat to make sure there hadn’t been anyone else around. Nat’d called to them all quietly to signal that the coast had been clear.

If picking their way through the woods had been tough, going through the destroyed house was a special kind of hell. Strewn limbs everywhere, almost the entire structure ground to dust, jagged ends cutting them no matter how hard they’d tried to avoid them, the wind blowing odds and ends about that’d scared them half to death if it brushed against their skin. Finally, they’d made their way to the nuclear blast door, down in a hole in the ground that they’d had to climb into, because the stairs had been blown up.

“How do we get back out?” Bucky had asked, as they’d all tramped down the stairs.

“The garage exit wouldn’t have been blown up. We can take two of the cars down here,” Bruce had answered.

“What exactly are we doing here?” Pietro asked, clapping his hands twice to switch on the lights – which were also still intact.

“We have to gear up, to an extent. I don’t fight anymore, because of the anger-thing, so I’ll need some sort of weapon. You’re fast, but would still need better shoes. I also want to kit everyone out in some Kevlar. We don’t have much time,” Bruce had explained.

Everyone had fallen into line and let Bruce scan them with this thing that’d looked like a barcode scanner in a supermarket. Nat had made Wanda sit this one out, as she’d had a head injury and was still rattled from earlier. Rudimentarily, they’d all been given some tougher clothes, Kevlar pads to cover all their weak spots, and had their pick of whatever they could use as weapons.

Pietro had skulked off into a corner, looking drawn and sad. Bruce had taken some old running tights he’d kept down here and fitted it with Kevlar pads according to Pietro’s measurements, which the scanner had given him. Same with a second skin he’d once made to protect Tony from the rashes he got from the sea salt. Pietro had lifted and stared at the clothes warily and then put them back down and stalked off. Wanda was with him, but he wouldn’t talk to her. This hadn’t been something Bruce had ever seen before. Wanda and Pietro were each other’s everything. What could’ve been so bad that Pietro couldn’t even talk to Wanda about it?

Bruce had wandered over, after finally finishing these palm energy blasters that ran on palladium and Tony’s arc-reactor tech. He’d put most of it together earlier on in the day. Pietro seemed to retreat further into himself as Bruce got closer. Wanda had sighed and left, giving Bruce a “you try” look.

“What’s up, buddy?” Bruce had asked. He’d known that then had been the right time to reach out a hand to put supportively on Pietro’s arm or shoulder, but his chest tightened weirdly at the thought of touching anyone and so he’d hoped his proximity and tone would be enough.

“Wanda does not understand. She keeps saying it doesn’t matter. It DOES. It matters to me and it will for sure matter to these KGB fucks, because the Russians literally have LGBT people in concentration camps. I can’t do this. I cannot put myself…” he’d stopped to take a deep breath and center himself. He’d shuddered violently on the inhale. On the exhale, he’d outwardly broken down.

Before Bruce could take a minute to steel himself, he’d already pulled Pietro to him. The other man had cried on his shoulder, sobbing like a little kid. Bruce had been able to feel his fear. He knew all about fear. Pietro was handling it surprisingly well, considering.

“What can I do to help?” he’d murmured near Pietro’s ear.

Pietro had lifted his head to look Bruce in the eye, his face still tear-streaked. He’d looked lost, then. Adrift. Like there hadn’t been a person in the world he felt he could trust. After what Pietro had done for Bruce that morning, Bruce had wanted to tear the head off of anyone who dared upset him.

He’d sniffed, looking for all the world like a frightened five-year-old, wiped his face and then asked: “Do the clothes have to be so _tight_?”

“Aerodynamically, yes. You’re really fast, Pietro. If your clothes are too baggy, it could cause wind-resistance and slow you down. I’m just trying to cater to your strengths,” Bruce had explained. He’d suddenly become extremely aware of how he’d still had his arms around Pietro and had let them drop, heavily.

Pietro had looked a little awkward, too, and had taken a step back.

 _See? He doesn’t even like you that way. You’re friends. Friends are comfortable around each other. It’s just you who’s an awkward, self-conscious mess all the time_ , Bruce had berated himself.

“Have you ever heard of d… dysph…” Pietro had started, but choked up again.

He hadn’t looked scared, then. Instead, he’d been angry with himself. Bruce, being a psychiatry student, could objectively understand to an extent. Pietro had clearly begun his transition and there was nothing visibly female about him, but what other people thought and said meant next to nothing when you still had parts of yourself you hated. Something about Pietro’s physical appearance had still nagged at him – something he’d felt the tight clothes would accentuate.

“I am an awkward, self-conscious mess,” Bruce had begun, echoing his thoughts, but not knowing how else to say what he knew needed to be said. God, he’d hoped that’d work, “but I am going to try to say this with as little weirdness as possible: Pietro Maximoff, there is absolutely nothing feminine about you. Not a single thing. You are…a _specimen_. I used to think Tony was a specimen when he started working out in earnest, but right now you even have him beat. I know dysphoria is not to be reasoned with, but trust me when I say that it is currently fucking with you.”

Bruce had felt so incredibly bare and uncomfortable then, that he’d wrapped his own arms around himself and dropped his gaze to stare at the ground. There was silence between them for several minutes. When Bruce had looked back up, Pietro had still been staring at him like he’d sprouted a second head.

“You didn’t see that one coming?” he’d said to lighten the mood.

Pietro’s expression broke into one of his dazzling smiles. “Not in the slightest, Banner.”

“Do you want I should alter the clothes a little?”

“What for? I don’t care if I make those Russians jealous.”

An incessant beeping had suddenly started up, then, from the main worktable. Bruce and Pietro had both run closer. It’d been Bruce’s phone. It was flashing them coordinates.

_Hold on, Tony. We’re coming._

 

Bruce had smashed the door down himself after cutting through it with concentrated beams from his energy blasters. He’d hated calling them that, but Tony could help him with better names later.

Stepping through that hole, he’d let Tony name every star in the sky.

“Tony, are you okay?” he’d asked immediately, rushing to his best friend, his brother. He’d thrown his arms around him, holding him like he’s never held anyone before in his life.

Tony had not responded, other than to cling to Bruce in much the same way.

Behind them, Natasha had unceremoniously snapped the dying guy’s neck, muttering what sounded like his name.

“Tony?” Bruce had said, pulling back to search his face.

“He killed a guy, Green. He’s in shock. You’ll have to give him a minute,” Natasha said. “Tony, can you tell us where Loki is? We can go get them for you.”

He’d let go of Bruce, then. Presumably to go in search of Loki, but they could see them and Odin through what looked like one-way glass across the room.

“Tony!” Bruce had called after him. Tony hadn’t had to do that alone. He had his whole family here, even if two of them (Jarvis and Clint) had at that moment been learning how to fly a KGB airship after Steve and Bucky had taken out the pilots. Not killed, just knocked unconscious. Steve had said before they’d gotten to the ship that he wouldn’t have it in him to kill anyone. Nat had said that he didn’t have to. She’d kill whoever needing killing. She’d looked miles deep down a fathomless pit of despair and revenge.

Suddenly, a black and silver blur had shot by Bruce, after Tony. 

_Pietro._

To Bruce’s right, he heard someone coming at him. Instinctively, he’d fired off a blast at the sound. With wide, petrified eyes, he’d seen straight through some poor bastard’s chest. The guy had gone down, looking even more shocked than Bruce.

Then, Pietro had come back down the corridor. Ahead of them, Tony had been peeking around a bend. Pietro was pacing out a run-up. Before he’d dashed off again, Bruce had reached out for his hand.

“Make those Russian fucks sorry they ever messed with us,” Bruce had said to him.

Pietro nodded.

He’d shot away, then. Faster than Bruce had ever seen him. In fact, all Bruce had seen had been his silvery hair and his silvery sneakers. Bruce hadn’t had the time to stand around, gawking, though, because suddenly there were more unfriendly people coming at him and Natasha was barking orders. With Bucky out of commission and Steve’s attention divided between fighting and tending to him, they’d technically been down two people. So, it’d really been up to Nat and Bruce to pick up the slack. Bruce had tried to fire off short range blasts without looking at his target as soon as he’d fired.

After what’d felt like an hour, but probably hadn’t been, they’d wasted all the Russians except their very own Nat, and she and Steve had sprinted down the corridor, while Bruce had seen about cauterizing Bucky’s sudden amputation.

He’d decided to stay with Bucky until the others came back, but after a while it’d gotten too quiet for him to handle. He’d asked Bucky if he could stand and Bucky had said yes, of course.

 _Dudebros_.

He’d reached Loki’s cell to discover Odin on the brink of certain death. He’d looked like he’d had trouble breathing. To Bruce, it’d looked like a heart-attack. Out of his pocket, he’d drawn the sedative they’d packed for just in case he lost his shit on this mission. When Loki had left, he’d held the sedative aloft. Loki had nodded, and Bruce had administered it – and not a moment too soon.

 

During the ugly business with what turned out to be the actual KGB, Bruce had decided to keep his head down. He’d been tired and his resolve mostly shot and they hadn’t had another sedative for him. Tony had said it was perfectly fine for him to sit this fight out and that he’d done more than enough. Loki had kneeled in front of him to meet his eyes where he’d sat, and thanked him from the bottom of their heart for saving them and Odin. Bruce had smiled and said that he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Anyone who made Tony happy, made Bruce happy. Loki had smiled their ethereal smile and kissed Bruce’s forehead. He’d recalled Tony asking if he and Loki could adopt Bruce when they got married and smiled as Loki pulled away and got up.

“Mind if I join you?” Pietro had asked.

“Pull up a floor,” Bruce had said, gesturing to the empty spot beside him.

Pietro dropped down like he hadn’t been able to stand another second. Bruce could relate. He’d been tired to his bones. Everything had hurt, and he kept smelling singed flesh and seeing people go down around him whenever he closed his eyes. He’d known then already that this would be a part of him for months still, if not years.

“You can sleep, if you like,” Pietro had said, then. “I couldn’t sleep now, if I tried. I’ll watch out for you.”

Only then had Bruce realized their shoulders had been pressed together. Too tired to fight his brain, he’d let the dregs of fuzziness that Pietro’s presence made him feel lull him into a somewhat lighter state of mind. He’d nodded at the other man, gotten comfortable with his head on Pietro’s shoulder and let the exhaustion take him.

After that day, there’d been a lot more of that: of not fighting his brain and letting Pietro make his world hazy and letting himself feel something for the beautiful boy with the thundercloud hair. He couldn’t ever admit it to Pietro, because he’d still been so unsure himself of what exactly was happening. He’d considering discussing it with Tony, but had been too embarrassed and weird about it. Then, he’d considered Loki, but had remembered what Loki had said to Pietro about getting laid that one morning in the kitchen and, although he was mostly convinced it had just been the weed and booze talking, he still hadn’t felt convinced enough to go to Loki.

But there had been incidents. Times where even Bruce could not possibly have been _that_ confused. For example:

It’d been the yearly art exhibition and Clint had been allotted a whopping five artworks for display, where most people only got one. His sculptures had blown his lecturers away. He’d been so happy that he’d had Pepper and his and Nat’s parents flown out by Jarvis, who’d also been invited, to come see.

Bruce had still been living in the apartment he’d used to share with Tony, even though he’d been living alone since Tony moved in with Loki. He’d really wanted to move out and in with someone, because he absolutely hated being in that apartment by himself. It got too big and empty when he was alone. He just hadn’t known where else to go. All his friends had already had roommates. Living by himself also made him forget important stuff: like a scarf and winter coat over his suit.

“Bruce, your fingers are blue,” Pietro had noted by way of greeting when Bruce had gotten to the gallery.

“Maybe I should call you Blue from now on instead of Green,” Nat had joked, her short blonde hair artfully spiked up and her now darker eyes sparkling mischievously.

She’d had her arm around Wanda’s shoulders, who looked utterly breath-taking in a scarlet, frame-hugging dress with an open back. She hadn’t looked cold at all. She probably hadn’t walked, either, Bruce had told himself.

“I forgot my coat and scarf,” he’d said, looking dolefully down at himself.

Pietro had taken off his charcoal grey scarf, which had set off his hair and eyes stunningly, and wrapped it around Bruce’s hands and his. He’d kept their hands tied together like that until Bruce had gotten some heat and circulation back in his.

“Keep the scarf,” Pietro had said, good-naturedly.

“Thanks,” Bruce said, smiling gratefully.

They’d gone inside, listened to the opening and then Clint had led them all outside, to the garden. His installation had been fantasy-based, and so they’d allowed him use of the beautiful, landscaped garden. Their party had been the first to see the exhibition and Bruce had lost himself immediately. He’d felt like he’d stepped into one of the fantasy novels he loved reading so much. Clint is incredibly talented.

“You’re shivering,” Pietro had snuck up behind him and said.

“Am I?” he’d responded, honestly. He’d then realized he had been.

“Do you want my coat for a while? I’ll be fine,” Pietro had offered.

“No. I’m okay. You have lacrosse tomorrow. You can’t risk getting sick,” Bruce had declined.

Pietro had closed the small gap between them and wrapped Bruce in what Bruce first thought was a hug, but then put together was him sharing his body heat with Bruce.

“Tony tells me you live by yourself now,” Pietro murmured at Bruce’s ear.

“Yeah,” Bruce had breathed back, which had been about the only air he could get into or out of his body. He’d left himself to suffocate slowly, then. He had zero control over himself and couldn’t bring himself to shake Pietro off.

“We have an extra room in our house. Sell your apartment and come live with us. Wanda worries about you taking care of yourself, and all Clint talks about anymore is Pepper. It’d be nice to have someone around to talk to,” Pietro had offered, so close to Bruce’s ear that he’d been able to feel Pietro’s breath on his skin. It’d made all the hair on Bruce’s body, save for his head, stand on end, though his scalp did prickle.

Not trusting himself with anything else, he’d nodded once. Pietro had let go after another few minutes and they’d made their way back inside. Though, when Bruce says “let go”, he means that relatively. Pietro had still had Bruce’s hand clasped firmly in his when they’d walked back into the gallery.

Another instance had been after Bruce had been moved in for about month. It’d been a Thursday night and Bruce had been ahead with his coursework, as usual. Unusually, so had Wanda. The two of them were now working together and he’d found he quite liked the intellectual companionship. Also, her cooking. She’s _amazing_ with food.

Bruce had been lying by the TV, not really paying much attention. Instead, he’d been mindlessly playing _Call of Duty: Black Ops_ – Zombies on his PlayStation Portable. He’d looked up for a split second when he’d seen someone come into the room in his periphery – and this had cost him his game.

Pietro had been standing there, watching him, in knee-high tube socks, a pair of Star Wars boxers – and Bruce’s _Dragon Age_ hoodie. His hair had been a mess: damp from a shower, and towel-dried, but not combed. Bruce’s mouth and throat had gone entirely dry.

“What are we playing tonight?” he’d asked, coming over to Bruce.

“COD,” Bruce had managed, but barely.

“The zombies one? I like that one,” he’d responded.

“Yeah. Same.”

The next thing Bruce had known, Pietro had been lying next to him on the couch, his head on Bruce’s shoulder, and he was watching him play.

This became another common feature of their relationship – whatever it was.

 

Today, however, Bruce has a plan. It’s not a very foolproof plan, and chances are it could very well backfire spectacularly. But is his plan and he is going to woman up (thanks, Clint) and do it.

He’s been making Pietro his kale smoothies for a while now, as his own warped way of showing affection. He wishes he sucked less at that, but Pietro’s seemed appreciative nonetheless. Bruce had told Tony that he had a plan and that Tony should save a seat for him, but not what the plan entailed exactly. Just that it involves him waiting outside the tunnel for the team to run out.

Today is the first game that Pietro is co-captaining and so Bruce really fucking hopes this works.

His heart is outright jumping up his throat by the time Pietro comes running up to him, one of his show-stopping smiles on his face. He holds his hand out for his smoothie – and Bruce takes his chance. He grabs Pietro’s hand, pulls him closer…

and kisses him full on the mouth.

For the first time since Bruce has met Pietro Maximoff, Pietro is the one who looks utterly dazed. All his newfound swagger and charm and confidence have left him and he looks like a good gust of wind could blow him right over.

Bruce, resisting the urge to run and hide under the bleachers, tries to hand Pietro his smoothie. Around them, Bruce can feel every single spectator sitting there with bated breath.

Pietro, finally snapping out of it, let’s Bruce hand him the smoothie. Along with that, he smiles so big and bright that Bruce feels blinded for a second. Then he promptly leans forward and kisses Bruce back with fervor.

The two of them part – the crowd cheering – because technically the game has already begun, but Steve’s made allowance this time, since he’s refereeing. However, before Bruce has a chance to turn away, Pietro grabs his arm and says: “I most certainly did not see that coming.”

“Neither did I, Maximoff,” Bruce replies, smiling.

Bruce’s awkwardness thaws on his way to his seat. It’s not gone when the game officially starts. He doubts it’ll ever be. This is who he is – but Pietro gets it. Pietro gets him. Which is why he now has the strength to deal with his revulsions – for the beautiful boy with the thundercloud hair.

And Bruce has decided he likes surprises.

He hopes his time with Pietro is filled with incredible moments he never sees coming.


End file.
